


It's Dark Inside

by poipletoitle



Series: There Are Two Kinds of Secrets [1]
Category: Magisterium Series - Holly Black & Cassandra Clare
Genre: Angst, Death, Fighting, First Post, Flashbacks, Gen, I don't really know what else to tag without giving stuff away, I'm so sorry, Insomnia, Just scary stuff in general, Kidnapping, Loss of Control, Loss of Identity, Nightmares, So much angst, Ugh, and stuff, chapter 2 non-canon compliant, have I mentioned the angst?, lots and lots of angst, yup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4807334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poipletoitle/pseuds/poipletoitle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Call has trouble sleeping, and things best left unbothered start to bubble up and make him rethink everything he has ever known.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Wanna Shelter You

**Author's Note:**

> My first time posting on this site. Here goes.
> 
> A Magisterium fic, because this is the greatest yet the most underrepresented fandom of all time. Title is taken from Demons by Imagine Dragons, because I swear that song is Call's anthem.
> 
> There may or may not be a second part to this, as my motivation has a problem with commitment.
> 
> Please comment if you see any mistakes, as I'm always trying to improve my writing.
> 
> Enjoy!

_Darkness._

_Nothing but darkness._

_He tries to move, to reach out, to do anything, but any movement seemed to be swallowed by tendrils of inky blackness._

_And then- Light- Warmth- Laughter as someone shoves him playfully. A reassuring hand on his shoulder. A familiar face, looking so much like his, yet with differences only they can see. Smiles and tears and everything, anything, something-_

_Nothing._

_He’s_

_F_

_A_

_L_

_L_

_I_

_N_

_G_

_Down and down and down._

_Someone screams. It’s not him. He wishes it was._

_He’s drowning and dying and being revived and feeling nothing at all- no, not nothing, there’s numbness crawling through his veins like poison, like smoke, consuming him. He feels someone shaking him, but he doesn’t respond. Vaguely, he can here someone calling a name (his name), but it’s not the right one. Every name besides one sounds like a betrayal._

_A voice (his again, though he doesn’t recognize it), croaks and strains and utters a single word, though it feels like so, so much more._

_“Jericho.”_

 

oooooooo

 

Call wakes up.

It’s nothing dramatic, because this isn’t a book or a movie, and rather than having his eyes fly open like he’s possessed, they slowly part to reveal the stone ceiling.

He’s breathing hard, like he’s run a marathon (or walked a mile; with his leg, it’s virtually the same thing), and he can feel the sweat cooling on his skin. He lays in bed for a few moments, trying to catch his breath and not give in to his urge to throw up over the side of the bed.

Once he’s sure that he can get up without swooning like some sort of damsel, he swings his legs over the side of the mattress and hobbles out of his bedroom. He collapses on one of the couches in the main room, and absentmindedly runs his hands through Havoc’s fur.

This is hardly the first nightmare Call’s had. He’s been subject to nightly terrors ever since the night at the bowling alley; most of them featuring some deranged version of Master Joseph and the silver mask. This particular brand of nightly entertainment, however, had only started about a week ago, two days after the events at the “tomb”. To say that Call is sleep-deprived is an understatement. He hasn’t gotten more than three hours of sleep per night. The bags under his eyes are slowly turning the same color as the void.

The thing that has Call the most worried, however, isn’t the lack of sleep, but rather the subject of his night terrors. They seem less like nightmares and more like… well, _memories_. His wolf peers up at him with sleepy eyes and Call buries his face in his soft coat. Havoc whines pitifully, as if to ask his what’s wrong, but Call just closes his eyes and tries to convince himself that it’s all just a figment of his imagination, that he’s not actually _remembering_ things that are better left unremembered.

It doesn’t work.

 

oooooooo

 

It’s getting harder to hide it.

He sees the concern in their gazes when they think he’s not looking. Tamara’s forced casual air when she asks him how he slept. He can hear her and Aaron’s worried voices drifting through the door while he’s “sleeping”. Celia frowns at the dark bags with concern, and even Jasper approaches him once or twice to ask how he’d doing.

He knows that keeping all of this from his friends is scoring him some major Evil Overlord points, but he just can’t bring himself to explain to them that he’s remembering things from his past life, that his memory is slowly being built back up, and have the fragile trust between them shattered.

Things come to a head (god, he can’t even think those two words without feeling sick to his stomach) on a Friday while they’re having dinner in the Refectory. He’s eating with his friends, staring into space and trying not to fall asleep on the spot, when he feels a hand tap his shoulder.

He sluggishly turns his head around and blinks a few times before his tired brain finally processes that it’s Alex Strike standing there, looking uncharacteristically nervous. He gives a small, quick smile.

“Hey Call,” Alex says, “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

The words take a moment to register in his exhausted brain, but he finds his reply quickly enough. He glances over at the table, where Aaron and Jasper are having a heated debate about the best way to put out a fire, and makes eye contact with Tamara who gives him a ‘go ahead’ gesture

“Uh, sure.”

“Let’s take a walk.”

They set off at a slow pace, walking around the empty tunnels of the Magisterium without a true destination in mind. Alex tries for conversation, and after a while they’re chatting casually as they wander around. They talk about the best flavor of lichen and briefly chat about Kimiya, and Alex doesn’t seem bothered when the conversation stutters into silence a few times.

When they’re only moments away from the Refectory entrance, Alex stops him and hands over a bottle filled with a shimmery white liquid.

“What’s this?” he asks curiously, once it’s in his hands.

“A sleeping solution,” Alex answers, and before he can say anything, plows on, “I know you probably don’t want to Call, but seriously? You’re worrying everyone, even _me_ , and those bags under your eyes aren’t getting any lighter.”

He grumbles something about not needing any help and being perfectly fine, but he pockets the bottle anyway, and pretends not to notice Alex’s proud grin.

He also pretends not to notice when Aaron and Tamara come back five minutes late from dinner, both wearing matching expressions of relief on their faces, and the way they shoot each other satisfied smiles when he says he’s going to bed.

 

oooooooo

 

The potion doesn’t really help the nightmares ( _memories_ , a voice in his head hisses), no surprise there, but at least now, when he wakes up sweating and shaking, it’s eight hours later. The bags under his eyes slowly fade, until they’re barely noticeable, and it becomes much easier to pretend he’s alright when he’s slept for more than two hours.

He’s still remembering, and he’s still scared, but at least this way, he’s the only one who has to worry about it.

 

oooooooo

 

He isn’t quite sure when it started, but all of a sudden classes start seeming suspiciously _easy_.

He’s always known that he's good at magic. He must have some potential, or else he doubts that Master Rufus would have chosen him, gut instinct or no (he still sometimes wonders at the absurdity of it all). But now, everything seems almost too simple. He passes through evaluations as effortlessly as eating an ice cream sundae. He preforms new spells perfectly on the first try, and sometimes he understands lessons before they’re even finished.

Makar lessons, though, are where everything seems almost too easy. At first, it’s one on one lessons with Master Rufus, so he doesn’t understand the strange glances for what they really are. To him, he’s moving at a completely normal pace, mastering control of the void without much difficulty. But when he joins up with Aaron he realizes that the ease with which he summons and harnesses the dark magic isn't considered natural.

Lessons with Aaron help, though; his friend shoots him warning glances when he starts to show that Chaos magic comes as easily to him as breathing. So he reigns back his power a bit and makes sure that he’s never _too_ far ahead of his friend.

It only starts to make him _really_ nervous when he starts getting spells of potent deja-vu almost every day.

But he can’t bring himself to completely stall his magic, because he wants to keep this to himself. Whenever he uses Chaos, he feels powerful, something he doesn’t feel often when both Aaron and Tamera are so much better then him when it comes to everything else. Not to mention the state of his leg. He knows that the Evil Overlord points are racking up big time, but he can’t stop when it feels so right. This is _his_.

 

oooooooo

 

He overhears Master Rufus and Master Milagros talking in the halls.

“-and it’s rather incredible. I do believe he qualifies as a prodigy.”

“Really?”

“Yes, although the ease at which he completes tasks is a bit terrifying, to be honest. It’s as if he doesn’t even have to think.”

“It could just be luck, Rufus. Or he could just be working exceptionally hard.”

“Perhaps.”

After that, he finds it much easier to try to convince them all that he is most defiantly _not_ a prodigy.

 

oooooooo

 

He doesn’t realize something’s really wrong until so, so much later.

They’re going out on a mission, and this time the Masters have left them to partner up on their own. Normally, he and Aaron would be together, seeing as the whole “counterweight” business was pretty serious. But Master Rufus had forbidden any Chaos magic, and so Aaron had decided to partner up with Tamara.

(He tries so hard to not feel bitter about that)

He’s standing awkwardly to the side when Celia comes bounding up to him.

“Call! Be my partner?” she beams, smiling brightly.

“Me?” he’s not really that surprised, to be honest, but he pretends to be anyway.

“Well yeah. Your name _is_ Callum Hunt, right?” she teases, dragging him by the arm to collect their assignment.

He laughs along with the rest of them, pastes a smile on his face for the rest of the mission, and is a perfect ray of sunshine throughout the entire day. (Which really should be the first clue that something's wrong. On his best days, he is nothing more than a sarcastic brat.) But on the inside, he feels like screaming. Because he doesn’t know anymore.

**He doesn’t know.**

 

oooooooo

 

_He runs._

_There’s pain, terrible burning pain, flowing through his blood. His face feels tender, like all the flesh on it has been clawed off, and maybe it has. He can’t think clearly through the spikes of agony that shoot through his body._

_Later, when he’s outside and away, away from the burning wreckage that was his life, Master Joseph finds him._

_“It’s my fault” he hears himself say, “It all my fault.”_

_Master Joseph shakes his head, “No. It is not your fault. It is death who took your brother away from you, and it’s death whose enemy you shall become.”_

_He takes a new name, after that day. His own doesn’t feel like it belongs to him, but rather another lifetime, one where his deepest emotions were that of happiness, and where he would have been frightened by the madness in Joseph’s eyes, rather than intrigued._

_He falls through time, seeing flashes of moments before his eyes, like leaves fluttering through a raging storm. Darkness leaking from his hands for the first time. The awed and terrified impressions of teachers, friends. A fire, a body, his hands summoning the void to preserve the remains of a life._

_Master Joseph, handing him a silver mask._

_His own hands, reaching out to accept it._


	2. This Is My Kingdom Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look. A wild update appears!
> 
> Bet'cha weren't expecting that huh... *rubs back of neck nervously*
> 
> Well, I finally finished this chapter, so here goes. Hope it's up to standard.
> 
> **EDIT: I realize that, as of the release of TBK, this is non-canon compliant. I may eventually take this chapter down, but I'm going to leave it for now.

Everything up until now has passed in a blur of color and tears. Now, he reflects, in this very moment, time seems to slow down.

After outing the spy, and making sure that no other students had been taken, he and Tamara had immediately tried to locate Master Joseph, even though the Masters suspected that other parties were responsible for the kidnapping of the first Makar. They didn’t have time to explain the entire story of how they knew that it was Master Joseph who had gotten his paws on Aaron, nor did they have the time to argue about the soul that currently resided in the second Makar’s body, and his intentions. If was both reliving and disappointing, seeing as he wasn’t completely sure if his intentions were as pure as Tamara and Aaron seemed to think they were.

In that moment, though, he knew his focus was right where it ought to be. He was going to save Aaron. And if anyone got in his way, then he had absolutely no intention of holding back.

He, Tamara and Havoc led the rest of the Magisterium inhabitants, plus a few determined mages, up the steep, icy face of the mountain. Out of all the places Master Joseph could have picked for the new hideout, he of course had chosen the location of the Cold Massacre. It was ironic, though he wasn’t really that surprised.

Once they reached the mouth of the cave, he and Tamara had waited for the rest of the group to catch up. 

That had been twenty minutes ago.

Now, he was fighting for his life. 

The Chaos-Ridden, had surrounded them on all sides, and, he had to admit, it was impressive to watch the fighting. The mages and mages in-training were shooting bolts of red hot fire or ice towards the Chaos-Ridden, pelting them with boulders the size of mini-vans and swirls of air that carried them high up and then slammed them down into the ground. The different elements came together to form what looked like some sort of chaotic tapestry, something he couldn’t help but find strangely beautiful…

But he didn’t have time for this.

Tamara and Jasper had told him, while they were rushing towards their destination, that if he gave any verbal commands to the Chaos-ridden, it would seem too suspicious. A lot of the kids in their year had seen him and Aaron using regular chaos magic before, and they would most likely know something was off the moment the zombified army started obeying his commands without question. Not to mention that they're in the presence of the Masters and about half of the Assembly, so showing that he can control the creatures would no doubt lead to all kinds of questions that they don’t have time for. However, if it became worst-case scenario, he knows that being banned from the Magisterium and possibly locked up is most defiantly worth the life of his counterweight.

He takes one last look at the fighting around him, and turns to Tamara, who gives him a nod. “It’s go time,” she says.

Without hesitating, he plunges into the fighting masses, his mind focused solely on the task of getting Aaron back. He knows he’s radiating serious power and “don’t mess with me” vibes, as the Chaos-Ridden are parting before him in waves. He summons a bit of void magic to zap the occasional Chaos-Ridden back to oblivion, and sicks Havoc on quite a few of them, so it seems less suspicious, but he doesn’t dare slow down. Running as fast as his leg allows him, he darts through the tunnels that have been carved into the mountain, a small platoon of his friends and mentors following behind.

He hurries through the passages, following some strange sixth sense he didn’t know he possessed until this very moment, not stopping to think, an endless loop of _Aaron, Aaron’s in trouble, Aaron, hurry, go, Aaron’s in trouble_ playing in his head.

They finally burst out into a round, dark, chamber with what looks to be a raised platform at one end. It reminds him so much of the temple that he has to repress a shudder. Tamara, standing next to him, makes no attempt to hide her cringing.

The rest of the group, made up of Master Rufus, Ms. Tarquin, Master Rockmaple, Kai, and Rafe look around in apprehension, eyeing the cave as if it will come to life and attack them, which, he reflects, probably isn’t entirely far off. Alastair and Jasper stand a little to the side, wearing matching expressions of uneasiness.

“Where is he?” he croaks, felling the desperation in his own voice.

“Call,” Alastair steps up and places a hand on his shoulder, in what is supposed to be a comforting gesture, “This is a big place, but trust me, we’ll find him.”

“No no no,” he shakes his head, “He’s supposed to be in here, WHY isn’t he in here-“

“Call,” that’s Tamara, stepping up to hug him, “It’s going to be okay.”

“We have to find him, Tamara,” he speaks into her shoulder, as Havoc whines below, nuzzling his leg, “I don’t- we have to-“

**SLAM.**

They all spin around, so perfectly in sync that in any other circumstance, it might be considered funny. 

“Well,” Master Joseph smiles that sticky, syrup, smile that makes his flesh want to shrivel away, “I’d say it’s a surprise, but really, it’s not. I was wondering how much longer it would take you to get here. You’d think that the cavalry would come running a bit quicker, seeing as I’ve kidnapped the school’s beloved Makar.”

Normally, this would be the point where snarky comebacks and sarcastic comments are made with lightning-speed, but seeing as Master Joseph is dragging the battered and bruised body of Aaron Stewart behind him, they’re all rendered effectively speechless.

“Joseph-“ Alastair croaks out in the numb silence, “You can’t- surely-“

The man flashes him a deranged smile, “Oh Alastair. Don’t be so naïve.”

Without any warning he raises a hand and immediately, a flood of Chaos-Ridden emerge from the shadows. The small group of mages cower back and slip into fighting stances, but all he can focus on is the unconscious body of his best friend in the too-tight grip of a terrible man. The time for waiting is way past gone.

“ENOUGH,” he roars, in a voice that doesn’t seem to be his own, and barely registers the shocked expressions on his friends’ and mentor’s faces at his tone. Without even thinking, he marches forward and waves his hand in an arc, effetely summoning a wave of darkness that sweeps all the Chaos-Ridden away and into the void. It’s the largest display of chaos magic he’s ever done, but he barely feels any strain. Though, that may have something to do with the fact that his counterweight is currently unconscious and at the hands of a madman.

“Give. Me. Back. My. FRIEND,” he yells at Master Joseph, standing his ground and trying to ignore the way his voice cracks on the last word.

Instead of cowering or even bursting into tears as would have been preferred, Master Joseph smiles that terrible smile again, and starts to chuckle lowly, “I’m afraid I’d prefer to hang on to him if that’s quite alright with you, Callum,” he speaks the name like a slur, a dangerous secret hanging in the air and coiling around all of them like a viper.

If anyone in the group is surprised that Master Joseph knows him name, they didn’t show it. Instead, Anastasia Tarquin, looking only slightly more disheveled than usual, steps out to confront the man.

“Joseph, “ she says coolly, so put together that you have to really listen to hear the strain in her words, “Surely, you out of all people, know that there is no point in this. Even if you do succeed in whatever insane plan your trying to accomplish with Mr. Stewart, we do have another Makar with us currently. You’ve seen what he can do to your troops. Now hand over the boy, or we’ll be forced to resort to violence. You lost. Constantine is dead.”

He feels something inside him stir with those words. It’s not a very pleasant sensation. From the way Jasper and Tamara are staring worriedly at him, he’s guessing that some of it shows on his face.

Master Joseph bursts out laughing.

From the slightly bewildered look on the Master Rockmaple’s face, it’s not the reaction anyone has been expecting. He feels a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, something that screams danger, and without thinking, he slips back into the fighting stance they’d all abandoned sometime into the course of the strange conversation. Alastair immediately takes note and does the same, wearily eyeing up his opponent, and gesturing for the others to do so as well. Havoc shows his support by growling at their enemy, his fur standing on end.

Master Joseph stops laughing with a wheeze, “My Master may be gone, Anastasia,” he immediately notes on the man’s choice of words (gone, not dead, but gone), “But, I do believe I’ve figured out a foolproof way to bring him back.”

Master Rockmaple huffs in ill-timed amusement “Don’t be absurd, Joseph. Even Constantine couldn’t-“

A pause-

A second-

-a breath-

-and then.

He watches transfixed, as Master Joseph raises a hand from underneath his black robe, a hand adorned with the glint of metal and jewels, arranged to create the crude outline of a glove.

He can feel the pressure inside of him starting to release, seeping through the cracks- 

He flings out a hands filled with dark magic.

-it’s flowing out in tiny streams, building up pressure-

_No no no why_

-too little to late, Makar-

_does this always happen_

-he hears someone scream, perhaps it’s Tamara or Jasper or maybe himself.

_to him._

**Too little too late.**

-a moment

All it takes is a simple moment.

He feels himself implode.

_No no no no no not again not again not again NOT AGAIN_

oooooooo

 

_Why why why why why why why-_

He’s colliding, exploding, falling, and the moon and the sun are meeting in an eclipse but don’t look too close or you’ll go blind, you’ll get **burned** boy-

_“I’ve done it Joseph, I’ve done it!”_

There’s a burning, burning pain where his soul should be but maybe that’s the point, there is no soul anymore, but why does it have to hurt so much-

_Why him? Why always him? Wasn’t once enough?_

He’s being cleaved in half and molded back together, trying to build something out of the smoking ruins that were once a boy, a happy boy, a boy with a best friend who was **alive-**

_“Alistair, Sarah, come look at this!”_

And it stings and burns, the memories, the collision of the two minds that were once separate but now one and, why, why can’t he go back, it **hurts-**

_He can’t- he can't do this again, why why why-_

It’s his heart now, that’s shrieking, crying, as it’s ripped to shreds because he’s reliving every moment with this one now and why oh why can’t he go back and fix it? He’s being sucked into a black hole, one that only leads to destruction and despair, so why is he feeling so at ease, so at home, why is this path so terribly familiar-

_“Master Rufus! This is so cool- oh look at me, Jericho I’m flying!”_

He’s cold but feverishly warm at the same time, and he knows that wherever he is he’s crying, but at the moment that doesn’t seem to be enough. He’s lost half his soul, half his mind, he’s two halves of different people that are so desperately trying to make a whole.

_“J- Jericho? Jericho, where are you? Jericho! JERICHO!!!”_

_“AARON”_

_Not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not again not-_

oooooooo

**“One of you will fail. One of you will die. And one of you is already dead.”**

oooooooo

 

He’s in a body now.

Or, at least, the illusion of one.

The feeling of coming back down to himself is strange, alien, and he can’t make out much of anything over the pain. He thinks he hears a voice, far far away, but he’s not sure, not when everything hurts so much, like someone’s lit him up with dynamite and smiled as he fractured into a million shards of glass.

His mind is nothing but a whirlwind, flying around in scattered pieces trying to make sense of who he is and where he and what on earth is-

_Hello._

**what? who? I don’t- I can’t-**

_Yes, you can. Remember._

And with one word his mind is, well, not restored, but cobbled back up in a semblance of what it was before, an illusion that might hold for simply a moment or perhaps a years if it desires so.

**Constantine.**

_I suppose that that's my name. Though it doesn’t quite seem appropriate anymore._

It’s strange, he thinks, because although he realizes what is happening here, it doesn’t feel unnatural. It’s like two sides of one person’s conscious arguing. Although they’re different in everyway, he doesn’t suddenly feel wrong, or nauseous, or like there’s an intruder inside his head. It’s like he’s figured out how to open his father’s tool box, to get past the lock of something that’s always been there, just staying hidden in the shadows. Constantine, Call, they’re two sides of one coin. Just because they’re different doesn’t mean they’re not also the same.

He feels strangely calm inside, as if he's the eye in the middle of a hurricane, surrounded on all sides by destruction and chaos, but it's all so messed up that he's gone numb. He can feel the two parts of his consciousness aligning, merging together, until-

A bolt of pain slices through his head. Memories boil up, of screaming faces and slit throats, blood running down hands like water pouring down a drain.

_Well. It look like we don't exactly... agree, about that kind of thing. I suppose we’ll have to fix that._

**What’s there to fix? You KILLED people! Of course I’m not okay with that.**

_I didn’t want to kill them. You know that. They just... got in the way._

**I also know that you didn’t really care whether they died or not! Are human lives, people’s souls, that expendable to you?**

_Well they wouldn’t have been dead for long. Actually, if I had finished my research, they could all be alive right now. Verity Torres. Jericho Madden. Sara Hunt, the mother of this body._

**Don’t-don’t do that.**

_Do what?_

**Be creepy like that. Like Master Joseph. It’s my body.**

_This is the body of Callum Hunt. Are you sure that that's your name?_

**… yes.**

_Don’t lie. We’re the same person, remember. Lying is pointless._

**Stop that! I-I’m not lying.**

_Do you really feel like Callum Hunt?_

**STOP.**

_Face it. You don’t know._

**Well, neither do you.**

_Well, I guess that that's true. Now that I have been exposed to… weaker nature, I don’t seem as inclined to experiment. I’m not exactly Constantine Madden any more, just like you’re not exactly Callum Hunt._

**So you’ll leave me alone? Go off somewhere and find a new person to posses?**

_No can do. We're the same person, remember? I’m afraid there’s no escaping that._

**No. I don’t get- I don’t understand any of this. How am I still me and you’re still you? If we’re the same person, then why are we arguing? None of this makes any sense.**

_I suppose this conversation is my- your-our way of processing the merge. This could all be happening in a matter of seconds, or hours. We really have no way of knowing._

**Wait- merge? There isn’t going to be any merge.**

_There already has been. We’ve both been a part of this body since it was born. The moment Master Joseph killed Aaron Stewart was simply the moment that triggered the change._

**No. Wait. Nonononono. Arron’s not dead. He can’t be. I’m just i-imagining this, right? He’s not actually dead. He’s perfectly fine and-**

_...You know what you saw. He's dead._

**No. You’re lying. He can’t be. Aaron’s supposed to be the hero, he can’t be-**

_But he doesn’t have to stay that way._

**HE’S NOT DEAD!**

_We can restore him. Jericho...well, thanks to the collapse of the stronghold, he's beyond saving. His body has been devoured by the void. Aaron, however--we can save him. His body is still fresh, still mostly intact. We could bring him back._

**I-I, I can’t-**

_You could. We could. Think about it. Think about everything that choas magic can do._

**Master Joseph killed him!**

_Yes. He shouldn't have done that._

**Wait. Why-**

_Look. Just as the memories of Callum Hunt saw those of Constantine Madden, those of Constantine Madden saw those of Callum Hunt. This exchange goes both ways. I'm not Constantine anymore, and you're not Callum. We’ve changed each other. My pain is the same as yours, and yours is the same as mine. Think of Jericho._

**I-**

_You are arguing with yourself right now. We’re the same person now. Accept that._

**W-we can save Aaron.**

_Yes. We can save Aaron._

**Aaron doesn’t have to be dead. We can save him.**

_We can save him._

_W_ **_e_ **

**_C_** _a_ **N**

**s** _A_ ** _v_** **e**

**h** _I_ ** _M_**

 

 ** _H_** **e** _d_ **O** ** _e_** _s_ ** _N_** **’T** **h** ** _a_** _VE_ **_t_** **o** _B_ **e** **d** _e_ ** _AD_**

 

**_I CAN SAVE HIM_ **

oooooooo

 

When he comes to, he’s standing up in the middle of the cavern, although he can’t remember moving there. He sees the blurred outline of Tamara’s worried face staring at him, and feels her presence close by. As his vision comes into focus, he can make out that Alastair is in a battle stance, his expression one of deep sorrow, but he looks ready to fight. Jasper is a mirror image of him, but through the angry tears in his eyes he is glaring with absolute hatred. Havoc, well, he’s slunk back behind Tamara, giving him a look of betrayal that makes him feel sad, even if it’s just for a second. The rest of the group all look confused but wary, sensing that something isn’t quite right. And Joseph-

He looks positively gleeful.

His smile is something grotesque and malevolent, stretching over his face and pulling at muscles that haven’t been used properly for years. His eyes are alight with pride and greed, watching him with an intensity that makes him want to bury him alive.

“It is done!” Joseph cries, his grin growing impossibly wider, “I’ve brought him back, don’t you all see-”

“Shut up, Joseph,” he says with a voice that could freeze fire, that seems alien yet familiar at the same time.

The room is silent. The grin on Joseph’s face vanishes, though the giddy air that surrounds him stays.

“Call,” Tamara stays were she is, though he can sense that she wants to back away, “Are you-”

“Please don’t call me that, Tamara,” he continues on, though he can feel his voice warm slightly while he’s addressing her, “It doesn’t really… work, anymore.”

The room goes quiet again. He can’t hear anything other than his breathing, but it doesn’t bother him. He sees her expression go from shock, to extreme sadness, to weary acceptance. Her stance shifts so that she is prepared for an attack, though she doesn’t outright show it.

Rufus’ face has gone from confused to stoic again. He carefully steps forward, as if the shield the rest of the group from harm.

Then Joseph starts to laugh.

“Master!” he cries between cackles, and stumbles down from the platform he was standing on, running towards him, “Oh my Master, at last-“

“Joseph,” he interrupts, and the raw power in his voice thrums throughout the room, though his tone is still colder than ice, “I thought I told you to shut your useless mouth.”

He can feel the tendrils of darkness coming off of him like smoke, and he knows without looking that everyone is starting to understand that he’s not exactly Call anymore. For the moment, though, he watches Joseph’s face pale as he starts to realize that he’s messed up.

He tries not to feel too satisfied when the rest of Joseph’s elated atmosphere vaporizes.

(It doesn’t work)

“Call, I mean, uh, not-Call,” Tamara is the first to speak again, covering for the shocked expressions of the mages behind her, “Can you tell us what exactly happened? Did you, uh-“

It’s one of the only times he’s seen her at a loss for words. He decides to help her out.

“We merged,” he tells her shortly, ignoring her crushed look and the strange thing it does to his heart “And to answer your next question, no, I don't want to hurt any of you, or really anyone, period. But you should leave. This isn’t exactly a friendly environment.”

“Like hell we’re leaving!” Anastasia exclaims, and it’s the first time he’s seen her lose her composure so thoroughly, “I demand an explanation! Why, I demand-“

He levels the full force of his glare in her direction and uses that hard, cold, voice again, “You’re not in any position to demand anything. I think you misunderstood me, Anastasia. When I told you to go I wasn’t asking. You’re leaving. Now.”

The rest of the room is appropriately intimidated. He sees Rufus’ eyes widen slightly, before his expression closes off again. He’s fairly certain that his old master has it figured out.

And that’s when Jasper attacks.

He lunges forward, palm facing out, and shoots a fireball, just like at their first trial, what seems like decades ago. Jasper doesn’t hesitate or let his emotions get in the way, which is something he might appreciate in a different situation.

He doesn’t hesitate, either. A wave of chaos magic rises up in front of him, swallowing up the flames. Before anyone can even blink, he sends out a coiled whip of darkness that knocks Jasper right off his feet, sending him crashing into the rest of the mages like a bowling ball. It’s most defiantly not a technique he’d learned with Rufus and Aaron.

_Aaron._

“What the heck, Call!” Rafe yells, as everyone picks themselves off the floor “You can’t just-“

“In case you didn’t notice, he attacked me first,” he points out, “I said I didn’t want to hurt any of you, which is true, but I have no problem with self defense. Also, I thought I told you; _don’t call me Call_.”

He growls out that last part, staring at them all, as if daring them to challenge him. No one does.

With another wave of his hands, he opens up a chasm in the cavern floor and fills it with chaos, separating himself, Joseph, and the… the body (he still can’t think of it as Aaron without feeling nauseous) from everyone else. They all scramble away from the edge, shouting, and run away from the center of the room.

“What are you doing?!?” Jasper yells, infuriated, looking ready to jump across the gap despite his likely injuries.

“You didn’t seem to be leaving any time soon, so I suppose I’m going to be the one to do so,” he calls back, levitating himself slightly so that he can glide along the floor toward the lump of skin that used to hold a human soul.

“Callum!” that’s Alastair, his words cracking and desperate, “Please, don’t do this!”

He turns around, sending the man that was once his father a sad smile, “I suppose you’ll have some explaining to do when you all reconvene. That’s quite all right. I want you all to know that I still have no intention of hurting any of you. That’s something we both agreed on. But please don’t come looking for me. That’ll only lead to problems.”

Tamara’s voice calls out, not particularly loud, but loud enough to be heard over the roaring of the rolling darkness of the chasm.

“He wouldn’t have wanted this, you know.”

He feels himself stiffen, and whirls around, his eyes intense and alight.

“How would you know what he would want, Tamara? He's DEAD!”

The world seems to pause for a moment. To be honest, he’s not quite sure whether he’s talking about Aaron or Jericho. But it doesn’t really matter in the end, does it? They’ve both left him.

Tamara speaks softly across the border that separates them, but somehow, he can still hear her, “What are you going to do?”

He feels his anger deflate slightly, but he squares his shoulders and stares straight into her eyes.

“What needs to be done.”

And with a final push of magic, he makes the walls start to crumble and the floor of the room shake. He remains where he is, levitating, and watches his once-friends and once-family flee out the door, with Havoc close behind.

He’s not quite sure how to feel about seeing them go.

 

oooooooo

 

Once everyone has left the room, he waits about five minutes, then reaches out, zaps all the Chaos-Ridden away, and puts a stop to the shaking.

He turns, lets himself fall to the floor, and starts striding (as fast as his limp will allow him) to the platform where Joseph had previously been standing. The man in question picks himself off the floor and runs of to him, like a lost puppy.

“Master,” he says, the excitement back in his eyes, “Glorious Master, what are we to-“

He whirls around, feeling the anger in him reel up it ugly head again, and without even having to think about it, a tendril of chaos magic has manifested and slammed Joseph to the nearest wall, holding him up by his windpipe.

“I don’t think you understand exactly how much trouble you’re in, Joseph” he’s using that terrible tone of voice again, but he’s intended to, this time, “Right now, I'm barely resisting the urge to rip you to shreds, after I very, very slowly and very, very painfully remove your internal organs.”

There’s fear in Joseph’s eyes, and for some reason, that makes him happy. Good. He should be afraid. He stalks forward, having pulled out his knife at some point, and approaches his prey with measured steps.

“I am very, very, angry,” he continues, and Joseph makes some sort of pained whimpering sound, “You KILLED my COUNTERWEIGHT!” he screams, now in his face, and he can’t bring himself to care that the man is being slowly strangled to death. He deserves it.

“I. Didn't. Want. You. To. Kill. Him,” he hisses, pressing the point of his blade on Joseph’s neck, right above where the chaos magic is holding him aloft, “I don’t care if you thought it was the only way to bring “your Master” back. I don’t care if you were going to die if you didn’t. I wouldn't even care if you thought the world was going end. YOU KILLED HIM! And I'm not happy with you.”

He snaps his fingers, and the blackness disappears. Joseph drops to the ground like a sack of potatoes, head down, gasping for air. He turns away and resumes his path towards the platform.

“You’re very lucky I’m not entirely Constantine anymore, Joseph," he calls back, "Constantine didn’t tolerate mistakes. I may be a different person, but I’m going to make something very clear to you. I don’t care what you’ve done for the enemy in the past. I don’t give a fuck if you were his most loyal servant or not. Mess up again, and I’ll turn you into a Choas elemental. Maybe you'll be more useful to me that way."

He lifts his arm up, and black chaos magic forms something resembling a hammock. It picks up the body cradles it inside, keeping Aaron safe. He discreetly looks away, still not ready to take in what’s left of him counterweight.

“Well, Joseph,” he says, turning around to find the man still on all fours, “Are you coming or not?”

With that, he turns and sets off down one of the passageways he had once carved and traveled, in another lifetime.

 

oooooooo

 

He can’t see it, walking away from the room. He’s not watching.

But, rest assured, as the uneven footsteps of a revived boy fade out of hearing, while he’s still kneeling on the floor, trying to catch his breath, while no one in the world is watching-

Joseph starts to smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp.
> 
> *hides under couch as people chuck rocks and rotten fruit*
> 
> I don't really know how that happened. I just started writing and it kind of... appeared...
> 
> Sorry
> 
> (Not really)
> 
> Please let me know if you see mistakes of any kind! I'm always trying to improve my author-person-ish skills!
> 
> I'm also maybe thinking of making this a series? Like, a bunch of random one-shots set in this universe or something. Thoughts?

**Author's Note:**

> I went and got myself a tumblr. I'm not exactly sure how that happened.
> 
> http://a-good-book-a-day.tumblr.com/
> 
> There's not much there, but if you're interested then here it is.


End file.
